


Danny Zuko Timestamps

by Alsike



Series: Danny Zuko and Timestamps [4]
Category: Criminal Minds, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 03:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alsike/pseuds/Alsike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Don't go away again, I want to be more than a story to tell your friends<br/>Seems like every time you come back home<br/>It's just to make me fall again" - a Story to Tell Your Friends, Every Avenue</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thanksgiving (2 years after)

It was sort of awkward to be in college and still have her mother wrangling invitations to Thanksgiving for her when she was going to be out of the country.  And if it hadn’t been an invitation to the Frosts’ Emily probably would have just stayed in the dorm for break.  Maybe it was just morbid curiosity, but there was no way she wasn’t going.  She handed her overnight bag to the servant that had opened the door and looked up, catching sight of Emma on the balcony just as she disappeared through a doorway.

She joined the party, taking a flute of champagne, happy that there were a lot of people she didn't know there, and hoping that none of them would recognize her even if they did know her mother.  She waited for Emma to come down, and when she did she just watched.  She watched her all through dinner, distracted enough that Cordelia had to stab her hand with a fork to make her pass the Cabernet.

There was something wrong with Emma; that was really fucking obvious.  It had been a while since Emily had seen her, over a year, but there were some things about Emma that really shouldn't change.  The most important one was her gaze, straight and blatant and unashamed.  That was _Emma_ , and this girl, who wouldn’t look up, who sat hunched in her jacket and loose jeans was _not_ Emma.  She was _sixteen_ , she was supposed to be flirty and gossipy and wearing skanky clothing, not dark-colored shirts with long sleeves.  She tried to disappear upstairs right after dinner, but Emily skipped pie and caught up to her outside her bedroom door.

“Emma-“

But she didn’t stop.  Emily grabbed her arm to halt her and Emma flinched away.

Emily dropped her wrist as if it had burned her, and her flinch kind of had.  They were supposed to be friends, even if Emma had stopped her sporadic correspondence a couple of months ago.

“Hey,” she tried, doing everything she could to make it sound normal.

“I don’t really feel like hanging out,” Emma muttered into her collar.  “And I’m straight now.”

Emily didn’t laugh; in the context it wasn’t really laughable.  “I just wanted to catch up.  You haven’t written me in a while.”

Emma shrugged.

“Are you okay?”

When she looked up, Emma’s eyes were wide and a little frightened, but she quickly ducked away again.  “Of course.  I’m fine,” she said, a little brittle, but getting stronger, until it almost had her usual defensive snap.

Emily faked a smile.  “I didn’t see Christian at dinner.  Is he coming at all this weekend?”

And then it was like something in Emma broke; maybe it was the lies.  Her face emptied of color and strength like someone had taken a shovel and scooped it out.  “No,” she said weakly.  “He’s never coming back.”

“Why?”

Emma’s lips tightened and she gave a shrug as if it should be obvious.  “Because our father found out.  He beat his boyfriend to within an inch of his life and when Christian wouldn’t go to hetero camp he kicked him out and cut him off.”

“Oh god, I’m sorry.”

“Why should _you_ be sorry!” Emma nearly screamed it.  “Your mom knows you're a faggot and she doesn’t give a fuck.  You’re not spending your life _waiting_ for your family to turn on you and decide that it’s time to destroy you!”

“Emma!” Emily grabbed her arms and pinned them to her sides, then pulled her close into a hug.  ‘Not giving a fuck’ was seriously _not_ how she would describe her mother’s attitude, but that wasn’t important now.  “I’m _sorry_.  I’m sorry for Christian and I’m sorry you’re scared and I _wish_ you had called me because you shouldn’t have had to deal with this alone.”

Emma was sobbing into her shoulder and Emily quietly clicked the lock of the door behind them and lifted her just enough to move her to the bed.  She laid her down and curled in next to her.  Emma’s fingers were buried deeply into her arms, but she didn’t care, even if it would bruise.  “What good would you have been?” Emma muttered bitterly into her chest.

“I dunno,” Emily whispered.  “Just…  If you had wanted to run away I could have reminded you that you can come to me.  I promised you that, remember?”

Emma’s grip loosened on her arms and she seemed to curl into herself, even paler than she had been before.  “No, I can’t.  I…”  She looked sick.

And this was what Emily was scared of.  She was scared it was something so bad that she couldn’t even try to fix it.  It was bad that Christian was gone, but he wasn’t _dead_.  “Hey,” she reached out.  Emma rolled away and sat up, wrapping her arms around her legs and looking away from her.

“I had sex with a guy,” she said, sharply, but not quite with the tone she would have used if she was proud of it.

But it was still like a punch in the gut.  Emily sat up, turning the other way, not wanting Emma to see her ugly expression if she happened to look back.  “Yeah?” she snapped, harshly, like she didn’t care.

Emma swiveled and slapped her.  Emily’s hand went to her cheek and she stared at Emma’s pale face, red eyes, and the tense lines by her mouth.  She looked betrayed.  “I-“

“If you _fucking_ say you’re sorry-“

Emily halted her apologies.  It wouldn’t be enough anyways.  “Are you _okay_?”

Emma looked away.  “Yeah.”  She shrugged.  “I said yes.  I just…  He was drunk, and I thought he was less likely to get pissed if I just said yes.”

“Emma,” it was almost a whimper.

“And you were gone for a long time.”  Emma started to cry quietly.  “You were _gone_ , and your letters suck, and you know how to do stuff like make friends and meet nice people, and you were always going to find someone nicer than me.  And I wish I hadn’t.  It hurt, and it wasn’t good at all, and I feel disgusting all the time and I don’t want people to look at me, and I couldn’t call you, or write you, but you didn’t write _me_.  And Christian was gone, and I just wanted to see if I didn’t have to be different, didn’t have to depend on you for _everything.”_

“I love you,” Emily whispered.

“Shut the fuck up!  You don’t have any idea what that feels like!”  And Emma was so certain and so desperate.

“You do?”

“ _Yeah_.  I _do_.”

And Emily leaned in and Emma met her halfway.

The kiss hurt, but they didn’t stop.  They devoured each other’s mouths, fingers digging into clothes, pulling apart seams and popping off buttons, hands finding secret half-forgotten places.  Emily had a moment of hesitation when Emma’s hands slid up under her shirt and her hips ground into her, so clearly desperate for more, and she thought it might be wrong to do it, when she was hurt, but Emma’s kisses were hot and wet and she sucked hard on her lower lip, and she couldn’t stop. 

“Show me you feel it,” Emma hissed into her neck.  Emily’s hands were splayed over her ass, and she froze at the quiet words, then she flipped Emma over and moved her weight on top of her, sliding a knee between her legs and leaning in for a kiss.

Emma cried a little as they fought for dominance, but Emily had something to prove.  She opened Emma’s jeans, sliding them down off her hips and all the way off, then her underwear, and spread her legs.  Emma jerked slightly, as if she wasn’t totally okay with it.

“Is this alright?” Emily asked, pressing a soft kiss to her abdomen.

“Yeah,” Emma managed weakly.  “It’s totally fine.”

“Good,” Emily threw her a lazy smile.  “I missed the way you taste.”

They didn’t stop that night, until they passed out around dawn, Emma’s blonde head pillowed on Emily’s chest.  “I really do love you,” Emily murmured into her hair.  It wasn’t funny, but she couldn’t help how desperately and irrevocably she cared about this girl.  But when she left the next day, she left alone.


	2. Interlude (4 years after)

Emily was up, she had been writing a paper for abnormal psych and she was stuck on the conclusion.  But it was three am, and she didn’t expect the phone to ring.

“Hey baby.”

Emily blinked and went through the list of people she knew who would get drunk, dial her number, and call her baby.

“Emma?”

“Oooh, got it in one!”

“Are you drunk?”

“You have to _ask_?”  She giggled.  “I like champagne.”

“I can _tell_.  Why are you calling me?”  Emily didn’t actually mind too much.  She laughed.  “Baby.”

“I didn’t drunk dial you!”

“No?”

“No.”  She could hear Emma pouting.  “I dialed you because I _love_ you.”

Emily laughed.  “Oh really?”

“No.”  She sounded self-satisfied now.  “I’m drunk.”

“Yes, I know.”

“And I don’t know where my friends went.”

“You… don’t.”

“They took the limo.”  She was whining now.

“The _limo_?”

“It’s _prom_.”

“Really?”

“ _Duh_.”

“So your friends dumped you?  Where are you?”

“I dunno.  Somewhere in New Haven.”

Emily blinked.  “What the fuck are you doing in New Haven?  Boston is like three hours closer to you!”

“Jenny said she knew a club we could get into in New Haven, and we had the limo, so we told him to drive.  We had champagne in the car.”

“Did you go to the club?”

“We went to a _bunch_ of clubs.”

“And your friends ditched you.”

“Yeah.”  There was a pause.  “It’s cold.”

“Are you outside?  Why are you outside?”

“The bar closed.”

“ _Emma_.”

“I’m tired.  But they’re gone.”

Emily groaned.  “Where the fuck are you?”

“I dunno.”

“Well, the name of the bar?  Anything?  Any street signs?”

“Ummm, Anthony St?”

“ _Anything_ else?”

“No.”

“Fuck, that’s the longest street in the city.”

“It’s dark, Emily, and I want to go to _bed.”_

“Fuck.  Just, stay where you are, and… don’t talk to anyone.”

Emily found a coat and shoes and hurried down the stairs and to the lower floor.  She banged on the door of her friend James until he opened up.  “Can I borrow your car?”

James blinked.  “Uh, yeah.  What’s wrong?”

“Drunk dialed by a friend who’s stranded somewhere on Anthony street.”

James nodded and tossed her the keys.  “The clubs and bars are mostly on the north end.”

“Thanks.”

She hurried down, found James’ car, a classic peach beetle with a skull and crossbones painted on a door, and started driving.  She found Emma on the curb, in a pretty dress, covering her face as she tried not to retch in the gutter.

“Get the fuck in here.”

“Nice car.”  Emma grinned lazily up at her.  “Pirate.”

“It’s not mine, don’t puke in on it.”  She glanced around.  “And get _in_ here _._   This is New Haven.  You’re lucky you haven’t been mugged or raped by now.”

Emma clambered in and pressed her lips against Emma’s cheek in a sloppy kiss.  “But my buccaneer hero came for me.”

“So you’re a princess now?”

Emma just leaned against her shoulder and fell asleep.

Emily reached the street by her dorm, parked and then looked down at the sleeping girl.  “Do I actually have to carry you?”  There was no response.  Emily groaned.  She opened the door on the other side and caught Emma under her arms, hoisting the skinny girl up over her shoulder.  She kicked the door shut and staggered to the dorm entrance.  “Fuck, I need to start working out.”

She rested on the landings, her muscles aching as she dragged her body and the load on it up the stairs.  She finally hauled Emma up the last staircase, and right then she started to wake up.  She showed it by struggling.  “Emry,” she mumbled, mostly incomprehensibly.  Put me _down_.”

“Emma…”

“Down!”

Emily dropped her on the floor.

“Bitch,” she spat, and then dragged herself to the edge of the stairwell and vomited.

Emily opened the door and waited for her to finish.  At least it wasn’t inside her room.  But she was just hanging limply over the bars, so Emily caught her by the shoulders and dragged her inside.  “Drink some water.”  She chucked a water bottle at Emma.

It bounced off of her and she feebly picked it up off the floor, cracking open the top.  Her glare was full strength though. “I love you too, bitch”

“Drink it.  I’m not dealing with you as hungover as shit tomorrow.”

“I’m a _Frost_ , I don’t get hungover.”

Emily rolled her eyes and dropped back on the bed.  “Have a good prom?”

Emma grinned at her.  “It was pretty good.  I made out with Tessa in the limo.  She’s cute, but,” she shrugged.  “Not like you.”

Emily hadn’t really been called cute before.  It was… interesting.  “Did you go stag?”

“No.”  Emma looked at her like she was an idiot.  “I took my _boy_ friend.”

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” Emily said, not willing to be awkward while Emma was drunk.  It wasn’t worth the effort.

“I _told_ you.”  She frowned.  “What’s his name?  Daniel.  Yeah.  Daniel.”

Emily laughed quietly to herself.  It wasn’t quite a snicker, but almost.  “Didn’t you say he was a fag?”

“He _is_.”  Emma grinned.  “But you know, everyone thinks that I’m being generous by being his beard, and no one seems to notice that I’m the one making out with girls at parties.”

“Enjoying your youth?”

Emma blinked up at her, her unfocused eyes limpid and deep.  “Might as well, right?”

Emily nodded.  “Might as well.”

Emma climbed up onto the bed and pushed her down, curling up next to her.  “Because it’s all over when I get you.”

Emily stiffened in surprise.  “It is?”

“No kissing random guys when I’m dating you, you said it.”

Emily chuckled, so she had.  “And girls?”

“It was implied.”

“I see.”

“It’s all over,” she repeated, burrowing into Emily’s shoulder and dragging the blanket over them both.  “’ts all better,” she mumbled, sleepily, her eyes fluttering shut.

“What’s all better?”

“’vrything,” she muttered.

“What are you talking about?”

“When I get you.”

Emma was asleep, breathing easily and snoring gently, before Emily had come up with a response to it.  In the morning, neither brought it up, and Emma called her driver to come pick her up and take her home.

"Couldn't you have called him last night?"

Emma just smiled and shrugged.  Emily shook her head.  "It's a nice dress, looks good on you."

"Thought you ought to have a chance to see it."


	3. Still Got Growing Up to Do (pt 1, 6 years after)

“Are you seriously letting my sister move in with you?”  Emma’s voice was flat, but slightly amused.

“Don’t be jealous because you never took me up on the offer.  Anyway, she’s paying half the rent, thank god.  The UN pays shit.”

“Make her clean too.  I don’t approve of the modeling, she needs to do some real work.”

Emily smiled.  “I’ll do my best to look out for her.  I met her boss though.  She’s… kind of scary.”

“You’re doing my job.”

“Well you decided to spend the year in _France_.”

Emma was silent for a moment, and Emily closed her eyes.  Why did she feel like she had to run away from her?  New York was a big city.  They didn’t have to see each other at all.  She didn’t need to leave the country.

“I’m coming back,” she said quietly.  “It’s not like I’m leaving forever.”

*            *            *

“It’s your fault you know,” Emily told Cordelia as she helped her move about forty suitcases into the two-room apartment.

“What?  That my sister has commitment issues that could poison a fucking ocean?”

“What you said.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes.  “Someone had to say it.”

It had been at Adrienne and Steve’s wedding.  Emily had been surprised to be invited in the first place, but apparently Adrienne was trying to pretend that she was nice, and played at them being close from spending their summers together when they were children.  It had been nice to see Emma who was starting college in the fall and slightly euphoric at getting out of her parents’ house.  She had been so happy to see her, bouncy, clearly having already been hitting the champagne.  She kept on tangling their fingers together and dragging her around, almost like holding hands.

At the reception one of Steve’s friends had given a rather drunken toast that was generally to the effect of ‘they’ve been dating (if tempestuously) for like seven years.  It was time to either shit or get off the pot.’  Adrienne had given him the look of death, and Emily had been rather worried for the drunken groomsman’s health.  But then Cordelia had turned to her and grinned.

“You’ve been shagging Emma for five.  When’s the wedding?”

Emma hadn’t really reacted well.  She went pale, told her sister to shut her mouth, and then proceeded to get shitfaced and vomit in the bushes.  At least she hadn’t passed out on the table like some of Steve’s friends did.

“Anyways,” Cordelia said, dropping the last suitcase and flopping bonelessly onto the sofa.  “If I could trade Emma for you I’d do it in a heartbeat.  Since I can’t, her finally admitting that she’s basically married to you is the best I can do.”  She caught Emily’s hand.  “I want you to be my sister in law.  Would you please, please, just knock her over the head with a club and drag her somewhere for consummation?”

Emily sighed and dropped onto the other end of the couch.  “Emma… For someone who could be the definition of cocky, she kind of doesn’t have much self-esteem.  I think she’s trying to give me a chance.”

“A chance to do what?”

“To find someone I like better.”

Cordelia snorted.  “That shouldn’t be hard.”

Emily looked away and gave a weak shrug.  “I don’t know.  It’s never managed to happen before.”


	4. Still Got Growing Up to Do (pt 2, 6 years and 6 months after)

Emily hated modeling parties, but Cordelia had whined at her for an hour to get her to come.  She had promised that Emily would have a good time, but she seemed to have forgotten the promise since she was busy sucking coke off another model’s fingers.  Emily really wasn’t surprised about that.  When she found out about it, she had flipped out at her and it was the first time she had seen Cordelia angry. “You can make my sister jump through all the hoops you want, but you’re not _my_ mistress.  So unless it has something to do with the rent or the apartment, fuck off.”

Emily had taken the hint and fucked off before living with her was intolerable.  She had felt kind of bitter about that at first, especially since it seemed to give Cordelia license to criticize her for not going out and having fun when she couldn’t do the reverse.  But the cocaine seemed to be restricted to work parties, and she had never had to carry her home or come pick her up at four in the morning, (unlike her sister) so she let it lie for now.

Still, just because Cordelia was enjoying herself, it didn’t mean she could just assume Emily was.  She glanced up and saw that she had moved on from finger sucking to other things and looked back down, not exactly embarrassed, but not wanting to gawp at someone she considered a little sister.

“Hey, Emily.”

Emily felt vibration of the voice and the breath against her neck more than heard sounds.  She stiffened, looking up from where she had been staring uncomfortably and vaguely at her drink and then nearly jerked back in shock.

“What are you doing here?”

Emma blinked, looking slightly stunned.  “Cordelia didn’t tell you I was coming?”

“I thought you were still in France!”  Emily wanted to lunge out and touch her, hug her even, just hold on, but she resisted.  “Are you back now?  You finished your semester right?”

Emma’s mouth twisted, and Emily knew that her face must have fallen.  The guilty look on her face made it obvious.  “I, um, the place I was studying, the New Sorbonne, they accepted me as a transfer student.  I’m going to be finishing undergrad in Paris.”

Emily stared at her, trying not to double over from the blow.  “That’s… that’s great, right?  You must be really good at French.”

Emma shrugged uncomfortably.  “My Arabic is still crap.”

“So, you have two more years?”

Emma nodded.

“You had better really be enjoying Paris.”

“You should come visit.”

Emily nodded.  “Yeah, I’ll see if I can.  The UN doesn’t really give me much time off.”

Emma’s lips tightened, but she looked like she thought she deserved it.

“Emma,” Emily reached out and took her hand, but Emma jerked it away. 

“No.  I told you not to wait for me, and you said I deserved a chance too.  Give me that.  I need to grow up a little.”

Emily flinched and wished she had been a little less bad at not sounding bitter.  The uncomfortable silence wasn’t quite drowned out by that blasting music from the speakers and a hundred people talking.

“Aww, you’re not making out yet?  Then you must be angsting.”  Cordelia shook her head at them.  “You guys need more alcohol, right now.”  Then she looked enthused.  “Or this!” she held up a small bag of white powder.

Emma made a slight grimace.  “Not really my thing.”

“You know I don’t,” Emily said.  “Anyway, I should go.  I have shit to do tomorrow.”

“Emily!” Cordelia whined, but it was Emma who caught her arm as she turned to leave. 

“Hey, you don’t have to.  We can hang out.  We’re friends, right?”

Emily just looked at her face for a long moment, wondering if that were true, if they could ever really be friends.  But she finally gave a stiff sigh, and nodded.  “Always.”

*          *            *

Emily knew that she had probably had enough to drink, but she couldn’t help going back for more, not when Emma was _there,_ and she had wanted her to be there for so long, but she wasn’t going to stay, and it _hurt_.

And then Emma laughed at something one of the models said, and Emily had just had _enough,_ and she grabbed Emma’s arm and dragged her into the hallway.  Emma was still laughing, but now at her.  “Where are we going?  Are we going-“ Emily pushed her up against the wall and kissed her roughly, open-mouthed, with invasive, sloppy tongue. 

“Oh,” she mumbled, when the kiss ended.  “We’re going here.”  She cupped Emily’s face.  “I like it here.”  Her eyes were lidded and intent, and Emily couldn’t help kissing her again, her hand sliding down to cup her breast through the thin shirt and bra.  Emma made a growling noise in her throat and their hips came together.  Emma hooked her leg up around Emily’s hips and Emily’s hand slid up her skirt, stroking her through her soaked underwear.  They didn’t let their mouths separate as Emily twitched aside her underwear and slid into her, and Emma gasped into the kiss.

“I love you,” Emily mumbled into her mouth, her fingers thrusting quickly and steadily into her.  “I’m always going to love you.”  She ground her thumb into Emma’s clit, and Emma’s hips jerked into her.  “No matter how long you make me wait.”  But she made sure it was too quiet to hear, and fucked her harder for a distraction.

Emma just whimpered as she arched under her hands and came.

Emily breathed shakily, trying to maintain control, desperately needing not to cry, to not make it obvious that the reason she couldn’t let go wasn’t just to support Emma, limp and slumped in her arms, but to support herself as well.  Emma leaned into her shoulder and pressed a light kiss on her neck.

“Take me home with you,” she murmured, and the tension drained away.

“Of course.”


	5. Michael: British with Eyeliner (8 years after)

Michael was dead.  Emily couldn’t believe it.  She backed away from the doctor, and ran into his parents.  They were too full of their own grief, but his mother took her hand.  “Thank you for all that you did for him.”

“Don’t… don’t thank me.  Don’t…”

“Do you have somewhere to go?  You shouldn’t be alone.”

Emily thought of her empty hotel room and gave a weak little sob.  “Yeah,” she said.  “Please don’t worry about me.”

Emma was in France.  That was all she could recall.  His parents had moved Michael to Barcelona, there was better palliative care there, and she got in the little rental car and drove.  Dusk was just falling when she entered France, and the traffic lightened as it got later.  At midnight she passed the outskirts of Bourges, and she sped at the extreme limit of the tiny car’s ability through the morning to Paris.  She got lost twice on the twisty cobbled streets before she found the little apartment in the Latin Quarter.  She parked half on the curb, not caring whether it was legal or not, and climbed up the stairs to the rickety landing, and then froze, not sure if she should knock on the door. 

Emma opened it, groggy and confused, and irritated, ready to rip whoever was waking her up at four in the morning a new one.

“Hey,” was all Emily could manage to say.

Emma hadn’t seen her for nearly two years, and still, the annoyance faded immediately.  “Hey,” Emma replied sleepily, her eyes warming and the corners of her mouth lifting into a smile.  Emily slid into her, burying her head in her shoulder.  Emma’s arms curled around her naturally, she walked her in and kicked the door shut and moved Emily to the bed.  Emily cried herself to sleep, and Emma petted her absently, having never fully woken up.

In the morning, Emma watched Emily’s eyelids flickering, trying to open but sticky with tears, and she bent down and pressed a light kiss on her lips.  “Want to tell me why you’re in France, darling?” she asked, and gave her coffee.  Emily held the coffee and looked up at Emma in the sunny loft, and for a moment all the horrible weeks in the hospital seemed far away.

Eventually, she managed to explain.

“You said he was sick.  I didn’t realize it was…”

Emily nodded and looked down into her coffee.  Emma’s hand rested on her shoulder.

Emily’s voice was quiet and almost resigned.  “Is this… is this what we get for being what we are?”

Emma flinched, but she didn’t pull her hand away.  “What?” her voice was bitter.  “You want to believe that God’s out to get us?  So _what_.”  There were enough real people in her life who hated her.  She didn’t need to imagine more.

Emily hardly responded.  She leaned on her hands, pressing her knuckles against her closed eyes.  “I’d rather know I was going to hell than believe that there’s no meaning to anything.  It wouldn’t change me.  I’d rather be a villain than a hypocrite.”  She swallowed.  “I’d rather be a villain than nothing.”

“Because then he wouldn’t be really gone.”  Emma shook her head.  “You’d want him to suffer an eternity in hell just so you could see him again?  That’s selfish.”

Emily sank into the pillows, her hand shaking and threatening to spill the coffee.  Emma cupped her fingers, keeping it steady, until she could put it down.  “He’s not supposed to be dead.”  Her voice shook as much as her hand, and there was nothing Emma could do about that.

 “I am sorry,” she said, a little bitterly.  And then she laughed weakly.  “You know, he was the only one of your friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, that fiancé you had once, that I was really afraid of.  If he had ever decided that girls were for him, that would be it.  You’d be together forever.  I am sorry, because I know you loved him.”

She had never seen Emily wear such a sad smile.  “I don’t know.  He told me that the thing he had wanted the most was to find someone… someone who was home.”  And she looked up, her eyes limpid with unshed tears.  “He told me that he wouldn’t have fucked it up like me.”

Emma laughed soundlessly, and leaned in, letting their foreheads press together.  “You didn’t fuck up.”

Emily caught her shoulders, pushing her down until she could see her face.  “There was so much he wanted.  He wanted to be a dad, and encircle the universe in a painting, and get really really drunk one more time.”

“Sounds like him,” Emma said, wishing she knew why Emily’s eyes were so intense.

“He ran out of time.”  And it was a kick in the gut.  “I know I was supposed to give you time, but I _can’t_.”  And Emily was cupping her face, pulling her in, and kissing her, helplessly.

Emma parted her lips and kissed back, tasting the coffee and bitterness on her lips, covering her, letting her weight rest on Emily’s hips and pressing down her shoulders.  She didn’t flinch when Emily’s fingers dug deeply into her arms, holding on as if she was afraid she’d disappear. 

People disappeared, and you had to hold on as tightly as you could while they were still there.  Later, when you forgot how quickly it happened, you could remember things like pride and irony, and that there was no fucking way you could find the person you were meant for when you were fourteen and have it work out like some sort of fairytale.  You could remember to let that get in the way, remember to forget that you couldn’t count on having the chance to take your time.  You could pretend that bitter kisses and finger-tip-bruises were nothing but animal lust, rather than clear inscriptions of the knowledge that all love stories end in tragedy.


	6. Eventually This Will Be Something Worth Holding On To

Emma was kind of counting the days now, second guessing herself every few weeks, and calling, and being incredibly nasty on the phone, and not apologizing, and demanding information about what Emily was doing, what she was thinking.  Emily was fine though.  She was putting her life back together, after abandoning her job and running off to Spain for six months.

“Well, you didn’t run off to get married, at least.  So you’re not an idiot.”

Emily laughed, managing to actually laugh at her stupid comments again, even the ones that had way too much to do with Michael.  “It’s still kind of hard to get around on my resume.”

But she had managed to get some sort of interview at least, doing translating and logistics for the immigrants’ rights division of the ACLU.  And the office was in Philadelphia, so that was something at least.

“So I’m graduating in like three months.  I got into a program at NYU.”

There was a tense interval of silence.

“You’re coming home?”  And that one hit right where it hurt.  Emma was damn glad she was on the phone and Emily couldn’t see her face.

“I’m moving back to the _states_.  I’m not moving back in with my dad.”

“I-  I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.”  There was another moment of quiet.  She didn’t know how to read this.  She wanted to know what it meant, what it was supposed to be.  “You’re happy?” she asked.

“I’m happy.”

There was another long pause then.  “Okay,” Emma said finally.  “Okay.  I’m happy too.”

*            *            *

Tabitha glanced up and smiled.  “You’re in a good mood today.”

Emily closed her mouth and smiled awkwardly.  She was talking a bit more than usual.  “I guess I am.”

“Want to tell me why?”

“Oh,” Emily shrugged, but couldn’t help the grin.  “Emma’s coming home.”

Unexpectedly, Tabitha looked hesitant.  “Cordelia’s sister Emma?”

Emily frowned, confused.  “Yeah.”  Cordelia had introduced them.  She had said, “Emily, I know you said you don’t want anyone, but this girl isn’t into serious, and she’s really hot.  You will enjoy it.”  And she had.

“Oh.”  Tabitha smiled.  “That’s good.  I’m happy for you.” 

Emily blinked, nonplussed.

“I guess we probably shouldn’t do this anymore.”

“What?  Why?”

Tabitha shook her head.  “Cordelia told me about you and Emma.”

“We broke up.”

“You said she’s coming home.”

“I didn’t mean to me.”  But her mouth twitched at the words.  She pressed her lips together and looked away.  “I don’t know what we’re doing.  I thought she was making me wait for something, until the story was right, until it was logical, until it wouldn’t be too hard, so it would last and we could make it.  But I thought… I thought we had hit that time when Michael died.  I thought she understood how I was so scared to let her go again that I didn’t let her leave the room for nearly a week.  She took me to the funeral, finally, and I started putting myself back together, but I thought it wouldn’t have to be without her.  And now she’s coming home but I don’t know if that means she’s decided that we've had enough time and she wants me back, or if it’s just a coincidence, and she’s finally done with school and wants to come back so she can teach here.”

“Does it matter?  You've had enough time, and she told you she’s coming back.  This is probably the best chance you have.  Take it.”

*            *            *

Emily drove up the weekend she flew in, and helped haul boxes and furniture up six floors and drove her around, shopping for the things she needed and the things she hadn’t brought back with her from France.

That evening they collapsed on the just-purchased sofa with a jug of Thunderbird and Morroccan take out, and Emma leaned back against the arm, tucking up her feet, and just watched.  Emily felt eyes on her and glanced over, a little hesitant, but never afraid.

“Lentils?”

“You seeing anyone?” Emma asked, and wondered how much she had already had to drink.

Emily gave an awkward smile and shrugged.  “Not anymore.  There was a girl, but it ended a couple of months ago.”

“Yeah?”

“It was never that serious to begin with.  I met her through Cordelia, before Selene took her out of rehab.”

“One of _Cordelia’s_ picks?”

Emily laughed.  “Hey, the sex was really hot.  Ballerinas are insanely flexible.”

Emma snorted.  “Definitely one of Cordelia’s.”  But her eyes skittered over Emily’s relaxed form and she wondered.  Her mouth twisted slightly.  “Why’d it end?”

Emily flinched, eyes wide like a deer about to be splattered over the pavement by an oncoming car.  “It just- did.”

“You’re a shitty liar,” Emma drawled and gestured for her to offer her glass up to be refilled.

“Fine.  She heard you were coming back and decided to save me the trouble of breaking up with her.  I’ve never been preemptively dumped before.  Cordelia apparently told her way too much about whatever she thinks about ‘us.’”

Emma harrumphed.  “Bitch.  It’s not like she wasn’t impaired ninety percent of the time I saw her when you were around.”

“I think I was a shitty roommate.”

“I don’t know.  Frosts tend to be good at hiding the fact they’re blitzed.  And, as you so presciently pointed out when you were fifteen and met my mother, we have the addiction gene.”  Emma flashed a half-sly, half-apologetic smile.  “Why do you think I haven’t been able to give you up?”

Emily snorted and rolled her eyes.  “You can just say you want to have sex, you really don’t need to flatter me first.”

Emma laughed and crawled across the couch to sit in her lap.  “You don’t think I can be romantic?”

“If comparing me to your sister’s heroin addiction is exemplary?  No.”  But she set down the half-finished glass of rotgut and curled her fingers around Emma’s waist.  Emma grinned and leaned in until the tips of their noses brushed.  She twisted a lock of Emily’s hair contemplatively around her finger.

“Okay,” she said, in something approaching a whisper, and leaned closer to her ear.  “I want to go to bed with you.”  _Every night_.

She didn’t say it.  She just caught Emily’s lower lip in her teeth, biting just hard enough to hurt, and tugging.  A small sound released from Emily’s chest and she tilted her head up, offering her mouth to be kissed.  So Emma kissed her, and stopped asking questions.

Emily’s hands were cool as they ran up her back, under her shirt, and Emma closed her eyes, breathing into her mouth, and wished she could hold tighter, wished Emily would never let her go.

*            *            *

It was a good year.  Emma was still busy with school and Emily was settling into her job, but sometimes Emily would drive up on weekends, and sometimes Emma would take the train down.  They would sleep late and stay in bed until later, and then go out, shopping or museums or playing tennis or getting drunk or eating at disgusting ethnic restaurants that Emily could find without a map, and it was almost like that summer again.  It was almost perfect.

Every Sunday afternoon was awful, every time they had to go back, had to remember that it was still just the occasional weekend, just like it had been for years.  And couldn’t say it, she couldn’t say ‘don’t see anyone else,’ couldn’t say, ‘don’t make plans that will take you farther away from me,’ ‘time’s up now, game over.’

Emma had come back from Paris because Emily had had enough time to find someone else and she was still muddling around, calling her occasionally, being generally sweet and utterly irresistible, and she couldn’t handle it anymore.  So she had come home.  But Emily wouldn’t take the fucking _hint_ already.

If the interview went well, she’d tell her, Emma told herself.  But Emily wasn’t home afterwards, so she found the key, let herself in, and decided to wait. 

*            *            *

“You’re in the _hospital_?  Emily!”

“I’m fine!  I was out for like thirty seconds!”

“How the fuck did you get on the wrong end of a thrown rock, you idiot?”

“The protesters were blockading city hall.  I was just trying to get out so I could get lunch.”

“You didn’t think to use the _back_ door?”

Emily sighed.  “They’re just keeping me overnight.  We should wrap up the meetings tomorrow and be home by nightfall.”

Emma scowled into the phone.  “Why are they keeping you overnight?”

“I don’t know!  To make sure I don’t have a blood clot or something.  Christ, Emma.  I’m trying not to panic here.  I _hate_ hospitals.”

“I know,” Emma said softly.  “Sorry.”

“It's okay.  How’s your job hunt going?”

“I actually had an interview today,” Emma said, a little musingly.  “I think it went well.”

“A high school?”

“Yeah, college prep.  It’s for French, and,” she laughed a little.  “They need a tennis coach.”

Emily laughed.  “When are you visiting next?  I want a rematch.”

“Oh please.  You still suck.  There’s no way you’ll beat me.”  Emma glanced around the pleasant living room she was in.  It wasn’t her fault if Emily didn’t know how to hide a key.

“Yeah, but come soon.  I miss you,” Emily said softly and a little groggily.

“Your pain meds clearly want you to sleep.”

“Yeah…”

“I miss you too.”

*            *            *

The delegation got back late, and Emily got a ride home, still too groggy from the pain meds.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Casey asked her as she let her out.

“Yeah, I’m fine.  Just gonna sleep for three days.  I can never really rest in the hospital.”

Emily let herself in and froze on the threshold, looking at the stack of luggage sitting next to her sofa, the extra pair of shoes next to her own and the fresh scent of Indian takeout.

Slipping off her shoes she padded through the dark house and mounted the stairs to her bedroom.  Emma was splayed out over the bed on her stomach, face buried in the pillows, fingers curled into the sheets by her head.

“Hey,” Emily whispered, touching the side of her face.  “You’re going to have to shove over.  No hogging the whole bed.”

Emma murmured vague acquiescence and didn’t move an inch.  Emily laughed quietly and got a quick shower before pulling on underwear and a t-shirt for bed.  Emma woke up a little more when Emily moved her forcibly to make room.

“Emry,”

“Hey stranger.”

“I got the job,” Emma murmured, wrapping herself around Emily like a limpet.

“Awesome.”

“Yeah.  ‘s like six blocks from here.”

“ _What?_ ”  Emily hadn’t even known it was in this _city_.

“Mhm.  Can't get rid of me now.”

“I could never get rid of you,” Emily whispered, but Emma was already asleep.

*            *            *

“I threw out your coffee maker.  It was vile.”  Emma said dropping onto the bed and handing Emily a cup of espresso. 

“You… threw out my coffee maker.”  Emily took a sip of the espresso and sighed.  It was thick and bitter and absolutely perfect.  It made her miss Europe like nothing else.  “So you’re going to make me this every morning?”

“Not weekends.”

“Wait… _not_ on weekends?”

Emma shrugged.  “Well, I have to be at work by seven thirty, and you don’t go in until nine, so it’s not a big deal.  But I’m sleeping in on weekends.”

“So you’re going to come here and make me coffee?”

Emma just looked at her as if she were stupid.

“You’re moving in,” Emily said flatly.  It wasn’t a question.

“Well,” Emma grinned.  “Technically, I’ve already moved in.  I just need to unpack.”

***

“Emily, darling.  Look, I know you’re still young, and that I shouldn’t worry.  But I don’t want you to be _lonely_.”

Emma wandered into the room and raised an eyebrow.  “My mom,” Emily mouthed.  Emma grinned and dropped onto the couch and put her feet in her lap.  “Foot rub,” she commanded.  Emily obeyed.

“I’m not lonely, mom.”

“You haven’t been in a serious relationship since that British boy died.”

Emily rolled her eyes and made Emma squeak by digging her thumbs into her arches.  “Michael was never my boyfriend, mom.  He was gay.  And I dated after he died.”  She hadn’t mentioned Tabitha to her mother, since it really had been for the sex.

“I just don’t know if you’re _open_ anymore.”

Emma snickered at the expression Emily made.

“Look, mom.  Do you remember Emma?”

“Emma?”  There was a pause.  “Do you mean that delinquent Frost girl that you were obsessed with when you were fifteen?  I heard she was very rude to her father and then left the country.  I always liked the other one better, the one that lived with you in New York.  What was her name?”

“Cordelia,” Emily said flatly.  “The one that got addicted to drugs, whored her way into two bad slasher movies, and then became the sex slave of one of the most powerful women in New York?”

“Emily!  Don’t say those kind of things!”

“She called me the other day,” added Emma, conversationally.  “She’s going to be in another movie.  Some Indie flick that an ex-stripper friend of hers made.”

Emily covered the mouthpiece.  “Still clean?”

Emma shrugged.  “She’s still with Selene.  If I were with that crazy bitch I’d have to be on _something_.”

“Is there someone there with you, Emily?”

“I was trying to tell you, mom.  Emma-“

“Tell her we’re getting married,” Emma said, laughing.  Emily pressed the phone to her chest and frowned.

“Don’t you think that you moving your ass in here is enough?  And anyways, when I freak her out that much, it’s not going to be a joke.”

Emma grinned.  “No?  You planning on getting down on one knee?  Because yesterday you were trying to kick me out.  Oh, oh, tell her I’ve finally gotten out of prison and have decided to go straight by setting up a tattoo parlor in the back of your house.”

Emily glowered.  “Will you ever grow up?”

“Are you kidding?  I teach _high school_.”

“What was that?” Elizabeth asked sharply.  “Something about marriage and prison?”

Emily groaned.  “Nothing.  Just, Emma got a job here, so-“

“You’ve been seeing her again?  Emily!  Just because you were childhood friends-“

Emily snorted.  “We really _weren’t_ childhood friends.”

“Because the little tramp couldn’t keep her hands off of you!”

Emma grinned as she overheard.  “I didn’t realize I had created that strong of an impression.  It’s been what?  Ten years?”

“You know she can hear you, mom.”

“Why is she in your house?  It's past ten on a _Monday_.”

“She lives here.”

Dead silence was all that hit Emily’s ear.

“Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack, Emily?  It sounded like you said that she _lives_ there.”

“She does.”

“And are you… _seeing_ each other?”

Emma snorted.  “Seeing _a lot_ of each other.”

“Shut up,” Emily pinched the skin of her ankle.

Emma kicked her in retaliation.  “Seriously, why aren’t you naked right now?  I’m actually prepared for tomorrow.  I could be fucking you, but you’re talking to your _mom_.”

“Are you telling me to _shut up_?”

“No.”  Emily scowled.  “I was telling Emma.  It didn’t work.”

“Are you seeing each other?”

“Yeah.”  Emily made a face.  “We never totally _stopped_ seeing each other.”

Emma snorted.  “Yeah, just the Paris-New York commute kind of sucks.  But it wasn’t exclusive, so it wasn’t dating.”

“Are we dating now?” Emily inquired.

“Well, you haven’t taken me out yet.”

“I never took you out the first time.”

“Yeah, but I was fourteen.  I had no standards.  And you did take me out.  You kept making me eat Mexican food.”

“Oh!  There’s this incredible Transylvanian restaurant downtown.  Friday?”

“Are you serious?  Transylvanian food?  Is that like _blood_?”

“Emily!” he mother roared through the phone.  “Plan your assignations _later_!  Just tell me you aren’t doing this to spite me?”

“I think you overrate your importance in her life,” Emma snarked.

“Mom.  I’m not doing this for any reason except that she moved herself into my house when I was away, and I like her.  I’ve _always_ liked her.”

Emma kneaded her lap.  “Aww, you’re so sweet.  But you seriously want to eat Transylvanian food?  Because that could be a deal-breaker between us.”

“That’s because you have no adventuresome spirit.”

“I teach _high school_!”

“ _Emily_!”

“I’m really not lonely, mom.  I have to go.  My girlfriend will continue to be irritating unless I take her to bed.”

Emma snorted.  “You going to rip my bodice too?”

“She has to get up early,” Emily clarified with heavy emphasis.

Elizabeth sighed.  “Go on, enjoy your carnal youth.  But good sex is _not_ something to build a relationship on.”

“Yes, mom,” Emily said dutifully, and said goodbye.

Emma scooted into her lap when she hung up and hooked her arm around her neck.  “Well, if you can’t build a relationship on good sex, it’s lucky ours is _excellent_.”

Emily laughed and kissed her. 

She tasted like summer.

 

FIN


End file.
